


(Un)Dress To Impress

by PlatinumAndPercocet



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Costumes, Gratuitous use of music, Halloween, Inappropriate behavior in elevators, M/M, Mirrors, Multi, Peter Pan References, Tentacle Andy, Trick Or Pete, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlatinumAndPercocet/pseuds/PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: A peek into an alternate Choking On Their Halos universe... I know, I know. Halloween at the BDSM club is bound to be exciting, right?





	(Un)Dress To Impress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnitchesAndTalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnitchesAndTalkers/gifts).



> This goes out to the spectacularly amazing, talented, lovely and supportive SnitchesAndTalkers not only for helping organize this whole thing but for talking me through more than a minor breakdown when my laptop at all 7k of my previous work. I know. It has been a day, Y'all. 
> 
> This has not been betad as I am struggling to make deadline as it is... Grammerly, don;t let me down! 
> 
> Please, please make sure you check out the other stories in this community, I guarantee that you will laugh, cry, and possibly snotsob. I mean, maybe. I don't know. I am not worthy of being grouped with such amazing authors. Please take the time to kudos and comment, the amazing amount of work that went into each of these pieces just... blows my mind. It is not an exaggeration when I say that my favorite authors are all participating. Like... almost all of them. Ever. 
> 
> ANYWAY. Thank you for taking the time to read my criminally short little entry, make sure to give the other stories a read and leave them some love. Happy Halloween, Y'all!
> 
> Aural Pleasure: Death Valley by Fall Out Boy

Given the usual atmosphere at Flame, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect on Halloween; I had a bit of a taste during Master Feldmann’s ‘Come As You Are’ night, but that was nothing compared to what I had just walked into. The entire club, straight to the lobby, was absolutely packed, and I had never been more thankful for the layers of stiff, scratchy tulle as I was while I wove through the crowd towards Lindsey’s desk. She was holding court from her elevated chair, her hair and gown both sleek and black, pale skin nearly glowing in the blue light as she waved to me. Morticia Addams may have been an almost obvious choice, but it was perfect at the same time; simple could be better, a concept that my mother never really learned. I couldn’t help but smile as I worked my way to the desk, smiling politely at the people I wove past, the stiff layers of my tutu assuring me at least a modicum of personal space. 

Even crowded as it was, there was an unspoken expectation of politeness amongst the patrons that frequented Flame, it was not an option given what happened beyond those doors. If there was anything untoward or harmful, it was ended and the offenders were immediately banned from the premises. I had only seen it happen once or twice in my time here, but those moments had left a lasting impact, to say the least. 

As soon as I was within reach, Lindsey hopped up from her chair and pulled me into a tight hug. Her presence, the joy, and respect that she fairly radiated were comforting, banishing away the remnants of the same fears that always, for some reason, plagued me every time I slipped my keycard through the lock at the front doors. 

“You look lovely, Chareligh! I’m fairly certain I had a music box with a ballerina that looked exactly like you when I was young.” Lindsey’s smile was bright as she took a step back, surveying me with a critical eye as I turned, allowing her to examine my costume. And it was, quite literally, a costume that I had ended up keeping after a performance of Sleeping Beauty during college. Delicate white silk with ornately gilded accents, the bodice twinkled in the lights, the beaded crown on my head matching the adornments, the corset laced back and familiar weight on my head pairing to make me stand just the slightest bit taller. It may have, at this point in my life, been an illusion, but they were, combined with the pointe shoes that I had on my feet, what had for so long made the main difference between an everyday practice and a performance. Some things could never be unlearned. 

Laughing, I dipped into a playful curtsey, sweeping my hand down to the floor before straightening up, much to Lindsey’s delight. “That’s it, I’m keeping you. Your boys can fight me, I don’t even care.” The receptionist was smiling radiantly as she settled back into her chair, rolling her eyes as she tilted her chin at the amassed crowd in her lobby. “Good luck with that mess. I’m pretty sure I saw Brendon slip in earlier, Gee said something about getting that table in the corner, away from all of the chaos. I can’t blame him. If I ever get away from this damn phone, I will be over. I swear you would think-” Lindsey’s words were cut off by the shrill ringing of the phone and she glared at the offending item even as she answered it, professional as could be. She gave great phone. 

Waving over my shoulder I carefully wove my way back through the gathered crowd, watching my surroundings carefully as I slipped and bobbed between the other patrons. There were costumes of every ilk, ranging from the traditional to more fitting for the surroundings, as it were. Familiar faces were a bit harder to come by, however, thanks to the abundance of masks and face paint. Everything was, however, exquisite; not a polyester garment or mass-market hyper-sexualized costume in sight. Then again, there was a fairly strict dress code as it was, tonight should be no different. 

Slipping in between a pair of shockingly convincing zombies as I made my way towards the packed bar. The crowd was at least three people deep, but it provided the perfect opportunity to watch as I waited, and watch I did. Since my first night here, I had been fond of the activity and had done so almost constantly when I could. The dynamics of the people was fascinating on a regular day; tonight it was even more so. I watched over my shoulder as familiar forms mingled with creatures of the night as bass heavy music poured from the speakers. I didn’t see either Mr. Stump or Mr. Wentz yet, but I had been assured that they would both be here, and I kept my eyes out, looking away only to order a tonic water from the neon-haired bartender. It was served up with a flourish, and a blood orange garnish, because of course. 

Clutching the glass closely, the liquid glowing in the black lights, I crept to the edge of the room, staying as close to the wall as possible, more to keep out of the way than anything else. It seemed to work, and I made it to the back table that Lindsey had spoken of with little trouble. It was already occupied, although sparsely, and by faces that were familiar, at least from here. Mr. Iero and Gerard were tucked into a corner, dressed as a dapper version of Frankenstein’s monster and a vampire respectively. Gerard’s fake fangs were bright when he smiled, glowing an almost eerie red, as he took a sip from the glass that matched mine. “Charleigh!” The redhead seemed delighted as he noticed my presence and four pairs of eyes turned to me, along with a round of greetings. Brendon was, as Lindsey had observed, tucked beside Mr. Weekes, dressed as some sort of a misfit prince charming. Apparently, he and I shared part of a brain. Mr. Weekes, for his part, was in all black, with a smattering of dark glitter on his cheeks. I wasn’t sure what he was, and I didn’t ask, but I had no doubt that Brendon would regale me with a tale during our next rehearsal. 

“Hi Gerard, Mr. Iero.” I nodded at the men in turn before casting a grin at Brendon, matching his. “I recognize that jacket.” 

“And I recognize that entire costume. Aurora, right?” Brendon spoke easily, a smile in his voice as he leaned against Mr. Weekes side. 

“Technically, yes. But I am going with a generic music box ballerina today. It’s easier to explain, I think.” 

“Well, you look lovely, Miss Gabriel. Please, join us. I’m sure Mr. Stump and Mr. Wentz will be here shortly.” Mr. Weekes was polite as always, but there was something behind his smile that I couldn’t quite manage to put my finger on. Bobbing my head in a small nod, I perched on the edge of the bench beside Gerard and opposite Brendon, my glass glowing beside Gerard’s on the tabletop. 

The music overhead changed to something haunting, the lyrics melancholy but familiar, with a melody that teased me with its familiarity, but I couldn’t for the life of me place it. Acoustic guitars and a raspy vocal duet replaced what I was sure had been a solo song and I wrinkled my nose as my fingers tapped on the table, trying to place it. Brendon figured it out before I did and nearly sprung up from his seat, bouncing on the balls of his feet, hand outstretched. 

“Dance with me.” It was as much of a request as it could be, but I couldn’t help blinking back in confusion as the pieces finally clicked. 

“I don’t think tha-”

“Please, Charleigh? I’ve heard stories but I haven’t been able to actually watch either of you.” Gerard’s plea was accompanied by a pout, one that I was well aware he knew was going to get him what he wanted. Both Lindsey and Mr. Iero had gone on at length about that exact expression and I knew that I was beaten. 

“Is there enough space?” I didn’t bother to reply to the redhead’s request otherwise, simply sizing up the available space in front of our table. 

“Absolutely. Come onnnnn, Charleigh.” Brendon was like a particularly tall puppy, all floppy hair and big brown eyes as he begged. I cast a quick glance at Mr. Weekes who simply laughed into his glass before nodding. 

Sighing in defeat, I slipped from my seat and stood carefully in front of Brendon, glancing back over my shoulder. “The pas de deux for you and Hayley?” It was an unnecessary question and my partner gave a quick nod, all lightness leaving his face as his features settled into a mask of sheer concentration and his hands rested easily on my waist. 

It was strange, at first, to be dancing in such a confined space, especially one with such a vast audience. The routine was not a difficult one to perform, partially because I had choreographed it, and I slipped very easily into performance mode, standing a bit taller, keeping my gaze up above anyone’s eyeline and, most importantly, trusting Brendon. 

The steps were instinctual and by the time the impromptu performance was finished we had accumulated a small audience, complete with a smattering of applause as Brendon set me down, dropping his hands from my waist before quickly hustling back to nearly curl up beside Mr. Weekes. I couldn’t hear the words that he whispered into the younger man’s ear, but judging by the expression on the younger man’s face, it was not something I was meant to be hearing in the first place. 

“That was beautiful, Angel.” The words ghosted over my neck on a warm breath, and I couldn’t help my smile as I spun to face Mr. Stump. And then my brain promptly short-circuited. In the time that we had been together, and even before that, when things were still a mess, I had seen both Mr. Stump and Mr. Wentz in various states of dress and undress, although the latter was significantly more common for Mr. Wentz, who seemed to have an abhorrence for clothing. But those moments, early mornings, late nights, showers even, were nothing compared to right now. Mr. Stump stood before me, a knowing smile on his face. Blue eyes were rimmed with dark liner, just a hint of it, and a black fedora perched atop soft hair that was mussed just so, no doubt by Mr. Wentz hand. That was all par for the course, everything else though, from the leather jacket, tight black t-shirt and studded belts that matched the cuffs on each wrist, to the poured on plaid pants, hanging suspenders and sloppily tied white Doc. Martin’s were new. The entire look was far more appealing than it probably should have been. 

The low clearing of a throat, a sound that still managed to sound like a laugh, pulled me from my blatant ogling, and I turned to face Mr. Wentz, my cheeks flushing. “Pretty, isn’t he Sweetheart?” The words were quiet, meant only for me, and I gave a nod even as Mr. Stump slipped by me to sit down, his hand grazing over my waist. 

“Yes, Sir.” The grin I received in response to the two words was bright, almost dazzlingly so despite the dim lights. Mr. Wentz was dressed to compliment Mr. Stump, dark hair styled into a perfectly haphazard mess, the sleeves on his graphic t-shirt rolled up to reveal more of the dark ink than usual and a pair of studded belts doing nothing of any possible value sling over his hips. Topping the obscenely tight leather pants and boots, however, was a kilt, a genuine one from what I could tell, although it was far too dark for me to actually make out the pattern. His wrists, unlike Mr. Stump’s, were noticeably free of any jewelry, save for the white gold cuff that complimented mine on his left wrist. 

“Keep saying that, Charleigh. It sounds kind of perfect coming from your mouth.” The compliment and that absolutely is what it was, was delivered along with a sharp slap on my ass as Mr. Wentz slipped past me, sliding into the booth beside Mr. Stump and petting the space beside him. 

“Play nice, Peter.” The admonishment was low, and delivered with the slightest of smiles, both sly and sweet before Mr. Stump resumed whatever conversation that he had been having with Mr. Iero as Mr. Wentz grinned, leaning back against the plush booth and took a long pull from his beer bottle. 

There was a comfort in the air, the same one that seemed ever present with the group that was scattered around the table, the calm is broken only momentarily as Elisa passed by without so much as a word. Andy, at the end of his leash, gave a meek smile in what could have been apology before he was pulled past. I felt for him, I truly did, and judging from the expression that flashed across Mr. Stump’s face, I was not the only one. But I was in no position to judge, not in the slightest. 

The time rolled by, measured in songs and conversations, punctuated by the clink of ice cubes against crystal as drinks were downed and honest laughter echoing almost in time to the heavy beat that poured out of the speakers. 

“Honestly, not a bit of this is purchased. Granted I did have to raid Mr. Wentz’s closet for a few items, but most of them are mine, albeit from another life.” Mr. Stump was speaking animatedly to Gerard after the flame-haired man had complimented his vintage t-shirt. 

“Once upon a time in Chicago.” Mr. Wentz grinned as he injected himself into the conversation, as he was prone to do, Mr. Stump shaking his head and shooting me a wink. “ Mr. Stump here, if you can believe it, was something of a fixture in shitty Chicago clubs. I still have no idea how he managed to get in at sixteen.” There was a note of false innocence to his voice, and Mr. Stump narrowed his eyes in an unspoken question, no doubt writing the story off as another of Mr. Wentz’s moments, of which there were many. 

“It helps when you are in the band.” There was a note of exasperation in Mr. Stump’s voice, although it died off with the slightest catch of breath. It was hardly noticeable, most likely not even picked up by anyone else at the table, but for someone as composed as Mr. Stump, it seemed wildly out of place, and more than a bit familiar. Letting my gaze dart from him to Mr. Wentz, my momentary confusion was cleared as I caught the slight movement of an inked arm beneath the table. There was not even the slightest falter in his voice as Mr. Wentz carefully interjected as though he didn’t have his hand in Mr. Stump’s pants beneath the table. 

“It was amazing, truly. You wouldn’t think such a composed, nerdy kid could manage to play drums as hard as he did but he blew me away, every single time.” The words were delivered with a smile that was nearly dripping with mirth, and the stress on specific words, however slight, was not lost on me. 

“You know as much as I am enjoying this little trip down memory lane, Peter, I think we should probably call it a night.” There was a bit of darkness to Mr. Stump’s voice, and judging by Mr. Iero’s grin, I was not the only one who heard it. Mr. Wentz seemed all too eager to comply, tapped me on my hip. 

“Say Goodnight, Sweetheart.” I cast another quick glance down just in time to see Mr. Wentz’s nimble fingers doing up the zipper on Mr. Stump’s obscene pants as I slipped from the booth and offered a smile to its remaining occupants as Mr. Wentz and Mr. Stump slipped out behind me. 

“Goodnight, thank you all so much for such a lovely evening.” It was very true, the night had been unexpectedly delightful, and I received a rousing chorus and a scattering of waves in response, along with not an insignificant amount of knowing laughter as Mr. Stump rested his hand on the small of my back and guided me around the filled to capacity club, following closely behind Mr. Wentz, through the lobby, and down the office halls, not saying a single word until we were all stopped in front of the private elevator.

“Peter?” There was an edge to Mr. Stump’s voice, although it was not at all threatening, and Mr. Wentz turned his attention from where he had been intently staring at the control panel to look at him, his air of casual indifference shattered by the desire that glowed in his whiskey eyes. 

“Yes, Patrick?” There was almost a challenge in Mr. Wentz’s insouciant tone, one that Mr. Stump rose to as soon as the elevator doors slipped open. 

“After you, Charleigh.” Mr. Stump was always polite to a fault, and I smiled as I slipped into the elevator, standing as close to the corner as I could before he followed. 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You are welcome, Angel. And it’s Patrick, please.” I received a soft smile, sweet and gentle, the same one that I’d been graced with in the early morning light more times than I could count. And then it was gone. A pale hand tightened around studded leather and pulled, yanking a very pleased looking Mr. Wentz into the elevator car just before the doors closed. “You impertinent little shit.” There was a strange tenderness to the words despite their harshness, one that I had come to associate exclusively with Patrick and Pete. 

Pete, for his part, simply smiled. “It’s the pants, Trick, I couldn’t help it. Pretty sure you haven’t worn those in a goddamn decade, and I wanted your dick just as much then as I do now.”

Patrick grinned, easy and knowing, before hitting the emergency stop button and bringing the car to an abrupt halt between floors seven and eight. “Is that so?” 

“You know it is.” Pete didn’t bother with formalities before dropping to his knees and tugging on the zipper of Patrick’s pants. It couldn’t have been an easy task and I watched, enraptured as skilled fingers worked the bright fabric down over pale thighs to catch at the top of the boots they had been tucked into. Patrick wove his hand easily into Pete’s artfully disheveled hair and tugged forcing his head back to meet his eyes. 

“Good Boy.” The accolade was simple but incredibly powerful, two words that held all of the trust in the world. Pete grinned fit to burst and leaned forward, teasing his tongue over the very tip of Patrick’s already hard cock, lapping at the freckle that may not have been visible from my vantage point, but was absolutely there. Patrick moaned at the contact, his head dropping back against the mirrored wall. “Keep going.”

The request was quiet, and I watched Pete’s lips quirk into a smile around the head of Patrick’s cock before wrapping his hand around the base and sliding his lips down to meet his fingers, his gaze never wavering from Patrick’s face. The hands anchored into Pete’s hair almost gently eased his head into an easy bob as Patrick rocked his hips almost lazily into’ Pete’s mouth. Flashes of a pretty pink cock were all that I was granted as I watched from my small, mirrored corner. Patrick’s moans were quiet, far more so than usual, and I could see his teeth catch his lower lip as he fought to keep his volume down, each slide of Pete’s lips pushing the edge of the carefully composed control that threatened to spiral out of control at any moment. 

The air seemed heavy and hot, the tinkling of piano music accompanied by the nearly obscene slurping from Pete and Patrick’s stifled moans as the minutes ticked by. It wasn’t until Pete’s cheeks hollowed that Patrick’s precarious hold on his composure finally snapped and he rocked his hips roughly, a stream of beautiful, filthy words falling from his lips as he came down Pete’s throat, holding tight to the dark hair of the man at his feet. 

Pete worked him through it, swallowing around Patrick’s prick before finally pulling back with a messy, wet pop and an obscenely lovely smile, his free hand pressed to the mess of fabric between his legs as he gasped for breath. “That was the best treat.” There was genuine affection in his voice as he wiped the back of his hand across wet lips and Patrick laughed, his breathing slowly returning to normal. 

“You are a huge fucking dork, Peter, and I love you for it.” The hand that had been so tightly wrapped in Pete’s hair slipped to cup his chin gently. 

“I know you do.” Pete turned his head, brushing a still sticky kiss across Patrick’s palm and gave me a lazy smile. “You wanna get us moving again, Sweetheart? I’m pretty sure there are still a few more treats in store.” 

Laughing, I pushed the emergency stop button again and the car resumed its ascent smoothly. “Angel, I hope you are prepared for an evening of ridiculously cheesy jokes and sugar. There are times I am convinced that Pete is the literal embodiment of Peter Pan. Halloween is his favorite holiday.” Patrick smiled as he pulled up his pants, dragging the fabric over his thighs and tucking his still impressive cock away. 

Pete nearly jumped up, laughing and dropping a kiss on Patrick’s lips before pulling me in close, the stiff layers of tulle crumpling against his kilt. “Fly with me, Wendy?” There was unabashed joy in his voice and I shook my head, dissolving into a fit of giggles as the elevator doors slid open and I was very nearly tugged out. 

“Come on, Sweetheart, Trick or Pete.” Patrick’s laughter, sweet and pure, echoed in the air as we headed to the door to see what other surprised the night had in store.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr. Come say hi, maybe?


End file.
